Harry Potter and the Cursed Chalice
by Victoria Hughes
Summary: [Discontinued]Harry is suffering physical abuse from Vernon. Can or will anyone save him, and why is Uncle Vernon so suddenly violent? Is Voldemort behind it all?
1. The Summer From Hell Begins

Harry Potter and the Cursed Chalaise 

by Vikki

Disclaimer:  This is owned by JKR, blah, blah, blah.  Please don't sue me.

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Chapter 1 – The Summer from Hell Begins 

It was going to be a very bad summer.

Harry Potter, 14-year-old wizard and student at the prestigious Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, realized this almost immediately when he climbed into the back of Uncle Vernon's car to return to 4 Privet Drive for summer break.  What he didn't understand was **why** things were so bad, but he knew better than to ask questions.

Personally, Harry didn't feel that he needed a particularly nasty summer with his relatives.  He was well aware that they hated him, mostly because he represented the abnormal and mysterious, things that the Dursley's both feared and loathed.  The feeling was mutual; Harry only returned to their home every summer because Dumbledore insisted, for reasons he seemed to feel would be best left undisclosed.  It made things awkward at best and downright miserable at worst, and Harry honestly didn't feel like dealing with it.  Harry even felt that he had a sort of excuse.  Last year had been horrific, what with Cedric Diggory's death and the return of Voldemort; every night Harry awoke with shards of terrifying nightmares piercing his memory, silent tears that he refused to shed when conscious staining his cheeks.  And now here he was, riding to the one place that he least wished to be: the home of Vernon Dursley and family, the bane of Harry's summertime existence.

And this summer was definitely going to be worse.

The realization first struck when Dudley began to ask if he **had** to sit in the back with Harry – why couldn't he sit between Mum and Dad? – and Uncle Vernon snapped at him, "Shush, boy!  I have things on my mind!" 

Dudley made a whimpering noise and clamped his mouth shut.  Aunt Petunia said nothing, her face pale and stony.

This might have delighted Harry if it hadn't occurred to him that if Uncle Vernon was this snappy with Dudley, then things were bound to be worse for Harry.

He was right.

*   *   *

BAM!!

Harry was rudely and suddenly awoken the next morning by the sound of his bedroom door slamming open so hard that it rebounded off the wall.   Immediately he sat up, peering at the door; the blurred figure of an enraged Uncle Vernon filled the doorway, and Harry groped wildly for his glasses with one outflung arm, not taking his eyes off his angry uncle.

Uncle Vernon covered the distance between Harry's bed and the door in three large strides just as Harry managed to clutch his glasses and slide them onto the bridge of his nose.  Vernon grabbed him forcibly by the arms.  "Well, boy – why aren't you up fixing breakfast!?" he snarled.

Harry dared to cast a glance at Dudley's old, broken alarm clock.  6:30 AM.  "Er … because I usually don't get up for another hour?" he answered.

Obviously that was the wrong answer, because Uncle Vernon's face turned purple with rage.  He seized Harry by the front of his nightshirt and hurled him in the general direction of the doorway; Harry stumbled, tripped, and cracked his head against the frame instead.  Still seeing stars, he felt Uncle Vernon shove him against the wall and heard him shout, "Get down there NOW!"

The shout upset Hedwig, who woke up with a squawk and began to screech irritably at Harry's uncle.  Harry's vision cleared enough to see Uncle Vernon pay her no heed, flinging his large hand out and knocking the cage from its stand, sending it crashing to the floor to roll around as Hedwig screeched and fluttered about in an attempt to escape.  "Shut up, bird!"

"Hey!" said Harry in protest, struggling against Uncle Vernon's fist in his shirt.

He didn't get any further because Uncle Vernon promptly put a fist in Harry's nose, snapping the bridge of his glasses and causing a free flow of blood.  His head snapped backwards, cracking his skull against the wall again; Uncle Vernon shouted something about respect that Harry didn't hear as he thought dazedly that he was going to have to go back to wearing duct-taped glasses because he wasn't allowed to use magic during the summer.  Moments later Harry found himself flung towards the stairway.  He barely managed to save himself from falling down the steps by grabbing the banister and clutching it for dear life.  He watched, silently seething, as Uncle Vernon stomped back into his room muttering about ungrateful hooligans.

Not until he heard his uncle's large frame settling back into bed did Harry dare to sneak back to his bedroom, clutching his nose in hopes it would soon stop bleeding.  Hedwig looked up at him indignantly from her cage, lying on its side on the floor.  "Don't look at me like that," Harry whispered, lifting her cage to set it straight again.  "It's not my fault Uncle Vernon did that to you –"

But that was the question, wasn't it – why **had** Uncle Vernon gone off his rocker like that?  As Harry struggled out of his bloody shirt, catching the last of the flow and wiping it off on the ruined clothes, he mused on the subject.  Uncle Vernon had promised Harry that he would do violence to his body if he stepped out of line many times before, but he had never actually hit him.  This was the first time Uncle Vernon had given Harry a bloody nose.  And Dudley was pretty terrified of his father these days too, he remembered from the time in the car; Aunt Petunia didn't seem too eager to contradict him, either.  Something was definitely wrong.

As angry as Harry was with his uncle, he wasn't in the mood for another bloody nose, so he pocketed the two halves of his glasses and felt his way down the stairs to make breakfast.  Once everyone had eaten, he could write to Ron and Sirius about his situation.  Surely someone could help.

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Author's notes:  I'm aiming for lots of reviews, so review, ppl!  ^^x;;  I swear there's a plot; wait for it!


	2. The Letter from Sirius

Harry Potter and the Cursed Chalice 

by Vikki

Disclaimer:  JKR owns these characters.  I am using them for nonprofit fun and blatant self-promotion.

Flame Policy:  I don't like flames.  I will feed them to my fire-breathing dragon, along with the flamer's head.  'kay?  ^^x

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Chapter 2:  The Letter from Sirius 

Two weeks after sending a letter to Sirius begging salvation from his uncle, Harry despaired of ever seeing Hedwig again.  Never before had his snowy owl taken so long to deliver a letter, even when his godfather had been in far-off lands such as Africa.  His worry was actually less for himself and more for Sirius and Hedwig – what if Sirius had been caught?  Had Hedwig been hit by a plane?  The list of possible mishaps got longer and longer in his mind until Harry was nearly mad with worry.

Things at the Dursleys were not looking up; in fact, they were worse.  Uncle Vernon snapped at everyone and everything; not even Dudley dared to talk back as his father's rage seemed to constantly boil just below the surface.  Harry quickly learned that silence was by far the best policy.  While Uncle Vernon would bellow at anyone who spoke to him, he took particular offense with Harry (not that this surprised him) and would fly into a rage if Harry spoke at all, to anyone.

This would have been okay if it was the worst part, as Harry was not particularly inclined to speak to any of the Dursleys if he could help it.  He hated them just as much as they hated him.  However, Uncle Vernon's rages (in which his face turned interesting purple shades and spittle flew from his mouth as he shouted) were often followed by fists.  Harry, to his credit, was mostly very good at dodging.  Things only got messy when Uncle Vernon managed to get a hold of Harry; otherwise Harry tore out the front door or up to his room until Uncle Vernon cooled down.  Even so, Harry now sported duct-taped glasses for the first time in four years, bruised upper arms and torso, and a black eye.

The unfortunate side effect to Uncle Vernon's sudden boldness and cruelty was that Dudley was encouraged to take to abusing Harry much the way he had before Harry had begun to attend Hogwarts.  Harry may have been a wizard, who could easily make Dudley's life miserable, but he was forbidden to do magic during the summer holidays, and as long as Harry was not in mortal danger he did not think that he could justify using magic on the Dursley's, no matter how horrible they were.  Also, he was still smaller and far thinner than Dudley (the latter was a huge relief), so Harry didn't stand a chance in a physical struggle.  Instead he had fallen to the old pre-Hogwarts game – running, and hiding.

To avoid further injury, Harry spent most of the evening hours when Uncle Vernon was home away from the Dursley house, wandering back and forth down Privet Drive with his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the sky, always half-hoping to glimpse Hedwig with a letter attached to her leg swooping towards him.  Neither Aunt Petunia nor Uncle Vernon made any comment on his sudden penchant for evening walks or on his absences at the dinner table – a result of Harry's decision that risking Uncle Vernon's wrath was not worth the sparse meals he was offered.  Harry almost doubted that they noticed.

Another reason Harry took the walks was to keep from blowing up at his relatives and accidentally using magic against them.  He really couldn't afford to be expelled from Hogwarts now – not when it would mean he would be stuck with a particularly abusive Uncle Vernon forever.

It was three weeks after Harry's return to the Dursley's house that Harry, stomach growling at the lack of sustenance and smarting from a well-aimed kick Dudley had thrown at his calf, heard a furious tapping at his window in the middle of the night.  Jumping up from his bed, he stared at the window.

"Hedwig!"

Harry wasted no time opening the window to admit his snowy owl, which immediately settled on the end of his bed and preened while Harry hastily pushed her bowl of water to her and stared at the letter she had dropped in his hands.  It was definitely Sirius' handwriting, he saw with relief.  He tore it open and read.

_Harry,_

_First off, I apologize that I took so long to reply to your letter.  I received it only last week, and I would have written straight away if I did not feel that I had a reason to hesitate._

_I'm so sorry Harry, but I cannot rescue you from your relatives for two reasons.  The first is that I am still on the run from the dementors, and if I took you from your relatives and was caught, and you were caught with me, there is no way I could guarantee your safety. The second is that I currently have no way to return to England.  Yes, I am out of the country, but I'm afraid that's all I can tell you._

_The reason for my delay in reply was that I used Hedwig to send a letter relaying your request to Dumbledore in hopes that he might save you from your plight.  (I hope you don't mind that I borrowed your owl.)  He wrote back to tell me that he was aware of the situation and on top of it.  I certainly hope he knows what he's doing._

_Bear it the best you can, Harry, and stay out of your uncle's path as often as possible.  Remember that Voldemort is far worse than your relatives, no matter how you may be tempted to leave them. I expect that Dumbledore wish you to stay with them because he is weighing between greater and lesser evils, and perhaps there is some protection in your blood relations that you and I know nothing about.  (What a shame.)  He would never leave you with them without a reason._

_Write as soon as you can to keep me updated.  If you think your life is at stake, don't hesitate to use magic.  Emergency situations are the exception to the Underage Magic law._

_Sirius_

Harry was relieved to know that his godfather was safe and apparently out of reach of the dementors for the moment, but at the same time he was deeply disappointed that a rescue from the Dursleys was out of the question.  He sighed and folded up the letter, then lifted the loose floorboard in his room and slipped it into his copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_, which was hidden along with his textbooks under the floor so he could do his schoolwork without the Dursleys finding out.  Currently, though, Harry was too apprehensive that Uncle Vernon might catch him working and take away his textbooks for good to dare do homework.

Replacing the floorboard, Harry stood and padded over to the one mirror in the room, which had a spider-web crack in its corner from when Dudley had crashed a model plane into it.  The semi-splintered image that stared back at him was pale and thin, still a little short for his age.  There were dark circles of exhaustion under both his bright green eyes, and a slowly fading ring of bruising around one of them.  Shoving up the sleeve of his oversized t-shirt (it had once been Dudley's, like all of the Muggle clothing Harry owned), he examined the ring of dark bruising on his upper arm that marked where Uncle Vernon had grabbed him repeatedly.  It was not fading, unlike his black eye.  Harry sighed again and turned away, flopping into his bed.  Hedwig made a startled noise – she had still been perched on the end of the bed – then fluttered back into her cage haughtily and nestled her head to engage in a well-deserved nap.

According to Dudley's old broken alarm clock, it was 2:30 AM.  Harry was vaguely surprised, but it was hard to sleep on an empty stomach.  In addition he could feel an oppressive sense of depression falling on him like a smothering blanket: summer vacation was far from over, and even Dumbledore himself refused to let Harry out of this miserable place.  On the other hand, Sirius was probably worrying about Harry now – once he had put himself in severe danger simply because Harry's scar hurt.  Since Sirius couldn't do anything, he didn't want his godfather to fret over him.

After tossing and turning and staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, Harry finally gave up on getting any sleep and pulled out his quill, an ink well, and a fresh piece of parchment.  He deliberated for a while on who to write to, and decided that the best person to send a message to would still be Sirius, even if he couldn't help.  Ron would eventually send a letter on his own if Harry failed to write; on the other hand, it sounded like Sirius didn't have access to owls.  Dipping his quill into the ink, he began to write.

_Sirius,_

_It's such good news that you're okay.  I was pretty worried when Hedwig took so long to return, but don't feel bad.  You had a good reason to detain her._

_Uncle Vernon is about the same, and Dudley's joined in a bit now.  However, Dudley's a little too slow-witted to be of any concern, and I can avoid Uncle Vernon.  Please don't worry, as I'm fine.  I think perhaps I reacted too quickly before.  I'm sorry that I've concerned you._

_I expect that you're right about Dumbledore, and I'd rather face Uncle Vernon at his worst than Voldemort any day.  Again, I'll be fine._

_Stay safe._

_Harry_

Harry folded the parchment, addressed it to Sirius, and slid it under his floorboards to wait until the morning.  Hedwig had earned her rest, after all, and Harry was finally feeling tired enough to catch a few hours of sleep before his 6:30 AM wake-up call.

He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

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Author's Notes:  This chapter is mundane.  I'll be shocked if anyone bothers to slog through it.  I swear, however, that the third chapter will have loads of action in it.

Stay tuned for chapter 3:  When Muggles Go Bad, in which Harry ponders Dumbledore's decision, Vernon blows sky-high, and Harry has a very explosive birthday!


	3. When Muggles Go Bad

Harry Potter and the Cursed Chalice 

By Vikki

Disclaimer:  It's JKR's, not mine.

Flame Policy:  Just say No!  ^^x

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Chapter 3:  When Muggles Go Bad 

The longer the summer dragged on, the more Harry felt that something was seriously wrong on the Dumbledore end of things.  Surely Dumbledore wouldn't have meant to leave Harry with his relatives when Uncle Vernon was acting like this.

He continued to write to Sirius, but he maintained that things were about the same in difficulty and refrained from reporting most of his injuries, not the least of which was a cut across his cheek from a knife-brandishing Vernon.  Harry didn't think that Uncle Vernon had meant to cut him.  He had been carving the turkey for a meal when Harry had returned from his regular evening walk, and had immediately laid into Harry verbally before lashing out to cuff him on the temple.  Apparently he had forgotten about the knife; an instant later Harry's cheek was bleeding all over the linoleum of the kitchen floor and Vernon was staring at him in a state of apparent shock.  Harry didn't feel any pain initially, and only barely managed to realize that the blood on Vernon's knife was his own before Aunt Petunia was thrusting a napkin at him and snapping at him to wipe himself up while Dudley was laughing in a semi-hysterical voice.  Luckily, the cut was not terribly deep, only bloody, and only needed a bandage (which he suspected was supplied mostly to keep Harry from bleeding anywhere else in the house).  Harry had only just taken the bandage off two weeks after the injury, and as he examined the thin horizontal line of new pink skin under his left eye, he suspected that he would be sporting a new scar to accompany the lightning-shaped one on his forehead.

The image in the mirror was getting both thinner and paler.  His wild hair seemed somehow blacker against his whitening skin.  Other than another black eye and the scar on his cheek, though, Harry bore no new visible marks.  Most were hidden by Dudley's huge clothes.

Harry longingly hoped for a letter from Ron or Hermione, but it seemed that they were, as usual, waiting until Harry's birthday to send anything.  Harry didn't blame them; the Dursley's reactions to anything magical had ranged over the past four years from deep fear to downright anger, and no one wanted to risk the latter for Harry's sake.  He didn't write to them because he currently kept Hedwig busy flying back and forth for his regular correspondence with Sirius.

Although Harry did not tell Sirius about his newer scar and latest round of bruising, he did confide his vague worries that something was wrong with Dumbledore's reaction.  Would Dumbledore really leave Harry with abusive relatives?  Surely Dumbledore himself could help Harry out if worse came to worse; Voldemort was back, and the only person he feared was Dumbledore.  Why shouldn't Harry stay with the Hogwarts headmaster?  However, he temporized his argument by adding that perhaps he was being too selfish.

Sirius responded with a rather indistinct argument that Dumbledore was probably busy or he thought Harry would be safer with the Dursleys, and that he was trying to do something about it.

Harry hated to think, _Too busy for me?_  But it did cross his mind.  Berating himself for acting as if the whole world revolved around him, Harry resigned himself to waiting until his yearly trip to Diagon Alley to escape his relatives.

Alas, it was not to be.

*   *   *

Harry's birthday morning was average in the sense that it began the same way his birthday had begun for the past three summers.  Almost punctually after midnight, Hedwig, Hermes, and Pigwidgeon swooped into the bedroom window Harry had left open for this purpose.  Hedwig bore a letter from Sirius, which contained the usual reassurances and worries, and a small card that played 'Happy Birthday' while shooting off small paper streamers that covered Harry's lap.  Harry grinned and brushed the streamers aside, relieving Hermes of his package and Pigwidgeon (who had calmed down a bit from the last time Harry had seen him, and only zoomed around crazily after getting a drink from Hedwig's bowl) of both of his.  Hermes carried a short letter from Hermione.

_Dear Harry,_

_Happy Birthday!  I hope your summer is going well.  Victor Krum – I'm sure you remember him – had me over for a few weeks this summer, and I had a wonderful time!  I'll tell you all about when I see you this year._

_I'm over at the Weasleys now, and I'm using Hermes because I don't think poor Pigwidgeon could handle a second package, being so tiny.  Ron insists that the little thing can carry twenty times its weight, but I doubt it._

_We've heard nothing of You-Know-Who all summer, and I suppose no news is good news.  Join us as soon as you can, Harry!  We've missed you._

_Hermione_

Her gift was, predictably, a book.  She had attached a note to its inside cover – _You're mentioned in this one!  Isn't that exciting!?  _It was entitled _The Contemporary History of Magic_.  Harry sighed quietly, grinning, and put the book aside.  Harry knew he was mentioned in several textbooks because of his confrontation with Voldemort at the age of one, but had never read any of the texts.  Leave it to Hermione to send one of them.

Pigwidgeon had borne two letters – one was from Ron and the other from the Weasley twins.  Harry opened Ron's first.

_Harry,_

_I know you're the one who made Fred and George buy me those new dress robes, and you'd better be warned that if you buy me a Christmas present, I'd be forced to return it to you from shame.  Seriously, thanks a bunch.  I don't think I could have stood wearing those old ones to another dance._

_I'm looking forward to seeing you again soon.  Hermione is here, and she's almost unbearable nitpicking about her Runes homework.  Mum and Dad say that Dumbledore doesn't want you leaving your uncle and aunt too early this year because you're supposed to be protected there, or something.  I wish that wasn't so, Harry.  You must be having a horrid time._

_We wish you a happy birthday, of course.  Sorry I didn't get you anything better, but if your diet is anything like last year's, I'm sure my present will be a bit of help._

_Ron_

Harry unwrapped the lumpy package that was from Ron; it was a bag labeled _Everlasting Chocolate – the gift that keeps on giving!_  He opened the bag to find a good pound of tasty chocolate and another note scrawled by Ron:  _See, the bag never empties of chocolate.  You'll have chocolate forever!  _It was a wonderful present in Harry's opinion, and he made a note to himself to tell Ron as much.

The last letter was extremely short.

_Harry!_

_We can't thank you enough for the money, though Fred thinks Mum nearly died of shame when we gave her and Dad half of it.  We bought Ron those new robes you said to get.  The rest of the money is dedicated to our new jokes shop._

_We've given you some of our products as a donation to our sponsor.  We hope they make your cousin more bearable._

_Fred and George_

Harry wasted no time tearing open the sizable box to find trick wands, Ton-tongue Toffees, and numerous other Weasley-trademarked tricks that would surely have been quite fun to use on Dudley if Harry hadn't wanted to risk Uncle Vernon's wrath.  Sighing regretfully, Harry put all of his presents under the loose floorboard, sent all three owls away with notes of thanks, and fell asleep to dreams that were pleasant for the first time in over a month.

It was the telephone call that tore things.

Harry had holed up in his room for the evening; his birthday had been completely ignored by the Dursleys again this year, much to Harry's relief, and he was munching on chocolate from Ron's present to substitute for his lack of dinner.  He heard the phone ring, but paid no attention.

He did pay attention when his uncle hollered, "YOU FREAKS!!  NEVER CALL THIS NUMBER AGAIN!"  There was the sound of a phone slamming on its hook, then angry stomping.  "THAT BOY – his FRIENDS –" he heard.

Harry would never have admitted it later, but he panicked.  He almost immediately concluded that Ron must have attempted to make a phone call, and still had the technique all wrong – he probably had shouted into the phone.  Which surely would have told Uncle Vernon that it was a wizard calling.  Which would surely have put him in his current rage.  Harry's stomach tried to twist itself into a knot; Harry saw no reason why Uncle Vernon wouldn't kill him when he was this mad.

His uncle was thumping up the stairs now, swearing; remembering that his wand and broom were still in the trunk Vernon had locked, as usual, at the beginning of the summer, Harry felt his heart do calisthenics in his chest and he dove for his window, opening it as wide as it could go, seriously considering jumping to the ground below.  _It's not that far_, he thought irrationally.  _I'll be fine –_

At that moment the door to Harry's room flew open, rebounding off the wall and almost flying off its hinges.  Harry ducked his head back in the window to stare at his uncle's large, heaving frame.  He was apoplectic; Harry swallowed and forced himself to stand his ground.

"Do you know what just happened, boy?"  Uncle Vernon's voice was deceptively calm.  He advanced on Harry and grabbed him fiercely by both arms, flinging him against the wall and holding him there.  "One of your – your _oddball_ friends called.  Didn't know how to use the phone, I daresay.  Shouted at me something dreadful."  His features twisted into a nasty grin, and Harry felt himself tremble.  "Did you tell him to call, boy?  Did you tell that FILTH to call my house!?"  He shook Harry as he spoke, grip ever tightening on his arms until Harry couldn't feel them anymore.  "I – never – want – to – hear – from – those – cloaked – hoodlums – again – "

_Filth?  Hoodlums!?  _Harry's anger was sparked by his uncle's choice of words, and in that spark of anger he found courage – courage that overran his fear.  "That _filth_ is made of better stuff than you'll ever be," he spat without thinking about what he was saying.  "You're nothing but a nasty, paranoid Muggle!"

Even as Harry spoke he realized his mistake.  Uncle Vernon went nuclear, judging by the color his face, his wordlessly working jaw, and his furious – beyond furious – expression, and he hadn't even gotten started on the screaming yet.  _This time he really will kill me.  I'm going to die_, thought Harry.  He swallowed but refused to look intimidated.  He would die bravely.

_Straightbacked and proud … just like your father …_  Harry quashed the oddly high-pitched voice from his memory and thought he felt a flash of pain across his scar, just for a moment –

"Pay attention, boy!" Uncle Vernon roared.

Harry was brought whirling back to reality when there was an audible _crack_ and a shock of pain ran up Harry's arm, followed closely by nausea and more waves of pain.  His arm had just been broken by Vernon's terrific grip.  Harry blinked rapidly as his vision blurred and clouded for a moment, but the pain faded a bit (probably shock, he realized later).  He slowly looked up at his uncle, expecting a malicious joy in Harry's suffering, continued anger, or even simply a cruel smile.

To his surprise, Uncle Vernon's small eyes were opened wide, his mouth parted slightly under its bushy beard, the color drained from his face a bit.  He looked … shocked.  "P-Petunia," he croaked after a moment.  "I-I just … I d-didn't mean …"

Of course, Aunt Petunia, who was probably downstairs doing dishes, couldn't hear Uncle Vernon's hoarse words.  Even Dudley, who had suddenly appeared puffing in the doorway of Harry's room (most likely to see the fun, Harry thought vaguely), didn't hear his father.

But Harry heard.  And wondered.

He didn't have long to spend wondering, though, as his uncle suddenly came to himself.  His face became a flushed red again, his features enraged.  "Don't you EVER dare speak to me like that!"  He slapped Harry heavily across the face, sending his glasses flying off his face to skitter into a corner of the room, then shifted his grip on Harry's broken arm, causing Harry's already blurred vision to blacken at the edges as he struggled not to throw up the chocolate he'd just eaten.  It was as if the moment of shock had never happened.  Harry peered up at his uncle's blotchy face and again despaired of surviving the evening.

He might not have if something amazing had not happened at that moment.

An explosion, a sound like a gunshot went off at the Dursley's front door.  There was the bang of the door banging open wildly, a dog's angry bark, and Aunt Petunia's sudden shrill scream.  Uncle Vernon cursed, snarled at Harry "I have no doubt this is _your_ doing, boy, so don't think you're getting off!", and flung him viciously at his bed before exiting the room.  A terrified Dudley was close on his heels, clutching his bottom as if it was all he held dear.

Harry dredged himself up from the floor of his bedroom and retrieved his glasses painstakingly as he heard more barking coming from the front foyer, accompanied by a voice that he knew but at the moment could not place.  Aunt Petunia was still screeching something awful, Dudley had begun to howl, and Uncle Vernon could be heard cursing from the bedroom.  Harry stumbled to the stairway to peer at the odd visitors – and almost cried from relief.

There in the front foyer was a huge black dog – unmistakably 'Snuffles'.  Next to him was Arthur Weasley, Ron's father.  Mr. Weasley was obviously trying to calm the situation, but Sirius the Dog would have none of it; he kept up a steady growl, hackles raised.  In fact, he continued to be threatening until Harry had worked his way halfway down the stairs and said, "Snuffles."  Immediately his godfather looked up, then bounded up the steps to him, making whining noises.  "I'm okay," Harry whispered in his ear, scratching behind them and trying not to think about the fact he was scratching human ears.

Mr. Weasley looked up from a distraught Petunia in apparent relief himself.  "Harry," he said warmly.  "It's so good to see you!  I'm sorry about the entrance, but your uncle seemed quite upset by my phone call –"

_So it wasn't Ron, _Harry thought vaguely.  He shook his head furiously.  "Don't apologize.  Just take me away, will you?"

Mr. Weasley looked perplexed by Harry's frankness.  "Pardon?"

Aunt Petunia was attempting to comfort Dudley, who was trembling in a corner.  She shot a glare at Harry.  "Take him!  It would be a favor!" she spat.  "He's nothing but trouble!"

"But … surely you can't hate Harry _that _much …"  Mr. Weasley's face had taken on a shocked appearance.

"Yes, they can," Harry said wearily.  His broken arm was beginning to throb painfully again.

Mr. Weasley looked doubtful.  "These are all probably just excess feelings because of my use of the – the fellyfone?  What was it again, Harry – wah!"

'Snuffles' had trotted back down the stairs and was now butting Mr. Weasley in the direction of Harry, growling a little.  Mr. Weasley obliged after a moment, mostly because he didn't have much choice.  And now, closer, he saw the damage that had been done.  "Harry!  What – who would –"

"Uncle Vernon," Harry said without hesitation.  "Please, please, take me, I think he wants to kill me –"

At that moment Harry heard something he had only heard in movies – the sound of a gun being cocked.  He spun around, and Mr. Weasley looked up.  Uncle Vernon was at the top of the stairs, trembling with either rage or fear, a gun pointed at Mr. Weasley.  "Get out," he rasped, "You unnatural freak of nature – or I'll shoot – I swear I will –"

Mr. Weasley, who looked as if he couldn't decide whether to be fascinated with the 'Muggle wand' of a gun or afraid of it, simply looked perplexed, while Harry froze instinctively.  However, Sirius growled fiercely, giving a sharp bark before leaping over Harry and Mr. Weasley and launching himself at Uncle Vernon.  Harry's uncle cried out and the gun gave off an angry retort, but it only rained plaster on his own head as Sirius landed squarely on his chest, growling and baring sharp teeth.  Aunt Petunia screamed again.  Harry suddenly thought of the neighbors.

"Mr. Weasley – we have to go now, or the neighbors might call the police –"

After the gun had gone off (even if it had only hit the ceiling), Mr. Weasley had enough sense to be shaken.  "_Stupify!_" he cried, pointing his wand at Aunt Petunia, putting an end to her cries, and then he repeated the process on Uncle Vernon, and again on Dudley (who might as well have been stupefied before, he was so shocked).  Only then did Sirius get off of him and take a place next to Harry, who was beginning to feel a bit woozy.  "Yes – that's probably for the best –" Mr. Weasley said.  " I'll collect your things for you, Harry, wait for me behind the house and I'll get you to the Burrow – did he do that to your arm, Harry?  I'll take care of that in a little bit … this looks like a bit of work for the Ministry to work out …"

Harry stood painstakingly and told Mr. Weasley where to find everything, before he walked to the backyard, 'Snuffles' at his side.  "Well," he said quietly to his godfather, "this is one way of going about getting help …"  He rested his throbbing, painful broken arm at his side and took deep breaths to stay calm.

He was unequivocally relieved when Mr. Weasley came out with Harry's things and used a Portkey to take them to the Burrow.  The summer from hell was over …

*   *   *

Author's notes:  But the story isn't over yet!  *niko  ^^x  Sorry this one got so long; it was supposed to be half this length, but building up to the action appropriately took longer than I expected.  I also had to include the birthday present bit; no self-respecting action Harry Potter ficis without one.  Someday I'll write a side story in which Harry gets to use those pranks on Dudley … ::snickers::

Stay tuned for chapter 4:  How It Comes Together, in which Mr. Weasley explains how he came to be calling Harry in the first place (and how he ran into Snuffles), Ron shows off his new dress robes, and Hermione attempts to psychoanalyze Uncle Vernon.

I'll let you in on a little secret:  I'm only writing this fic for reviews.  Shallow, huh?  But that means you **have** to review!  Please, feedback is always a good thing …


	4. How it Comes Together

Harry Potter and the Cursed Chalice 

by Vikki

Disclaimer:  JKR owns everything in this story except the plotline, and I'm not even sure if that's mine …

Flame Policy:  (In case you haven't figured this out yet, I write these for amusement value). I have a crazed psycho killer at my house.  His name is Ken.  He's an assassin.  I assign him targets.  Enough said.

Pre-author's notes:  Thanks for all the reviews!  I will try to always put up a part every few days, or once a week, unless I'm really busy.  If you're having trouble reading the format, you're probably using a Netscape browser.  I'm saving this fic in HTML format, and since it's a Microsoft writing program, it saves in an IE-friendly format … my apologies.

MORE pre-author's notes:  About the last chapter: I support Vernon's actions (as far as the gun and phone call go) this way: didn't he pull a shotgun on Hagrid?  And he was really enraged by both the letter and the phone call in the second and fourth books?  I just needed to add that.  Thanks.

*   *   *

Chapter 4:  How It Comes Together 

At the Burrow Harry was immediately descended upon by Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Fred and George, Ginny, Percy, and Hermione, all pelting him with questions.  Mr. Weasley ordered calm and order, and when he finally made his wand whistle loudly and shot green sparks into the air, he got it.  "It seems Harry was in quite a predicament, and the thing he needs most now is medical attention and rest!" he announced.  "Molly, would you take care of him?  I need to contact the Ministry immediately …" Giving Harry a final, gentle pat on the shoulder, he pushed past his family and plowed into the house.

Mrs. Weasley instantly took on a role not unlike Madame Pomfrey's, Harry couldn't help thinking as she shooed everyone off ("yes, you too, Ron, I'm sure Harry can tell you all about it in a bit") and helped Harry inside.  He was grateful; the Portkey had left him vaguely disoriented, his broken arm was giving him a lot of grief, and now that the adrenaline of his predicament and rescue had worn off, he was exhausted too.

Mrs. Weasley lowered him onto a couch and gasped.  "Harry!  What on earth…?"  She lifted her fingers to trail for a moment against Harry's cheek, tracing the fresh scar there, and shook her head at his black eye.  "Why didn't you ever write and tell us?"

Harry suddenly realized that that probably would have been the best thing to do and flushed embarrassedly.  "I didn't think to … I wrote to my –" he cut off; no one knew about his godfather except Ron and Hermione, and of course Dumbledore. He hastened to cover his mistake.  "Well, Dumbledore seems to think that there's some kind of protection from Volde – er, You-Know-Who – at my relative's house, so I thought that as long as Uncle Vernon didn't try to kill me, I could, you know, handle it myself …"

"Oh, Harry …" Mrs. Weasley made an exasperated noise and squeezed his arm reassuringly – his broken arm.  Harry cut off his cry by clenching his teeth and letting his breath out in a hiss.  Mrs. Weasley jerked away.  "What is it?" she cried.

"Broken arm," Harry gritted out. He couldn't blame people for not noticing right away – Dudley's clothes were so huge Harry almost drowned in them, and they concealed his arm so completely that there was no doubt it was impossible to see the damage done.

"Oh!"  Mrs. Weasley looked so distraught that Harry was tempted to tell her that it wasn't so bad, he could get along with his arm broken, but of course that would have been absurd.  "I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed.  "Here, let me see that …" She carefully rolled up his sleeve and examined his upper arm, which had swollen considerably.  "Well, no bone is visible …" She conjured up a splint that bound itself to Harry's arm; that alone was a bit of relief, and Harry said as much, but Mrs. Weasley didn't seem pleased.  "That'll have to do until I find my book about healing spells again," she sighed.  "In the meantime, why don't you get some sleep?  Here, I'll make you a bed on the couch for the moment.  _Accio blanket!  Accio pillow!_"  The fluffy pillow on the other couch and the blanket that rested on it flew into Mrs. Weasley's arms, and she pushed Harry into a supine position so she could tuck him in.

Harry, however, tired as he was, realized he had a few questions.  "What's Mr. Weasley going to do about my relatives?  Does Dumbledore know where I am?"

Unfortunately, Mrs. Weasley would have none of it.  "Don't worry about that!  Get some sleep; I'm sure Arthur will explain when you wake up."  With that final word, she left the room.

Harry spent approximately thirty seconds in perplexed silence, resting his head on the pillow, before exhaustion won out over curiosity and he fell into a dreamless sleep.

*   *   *

Harry awoke to the pleasant aroma of hot cocoa and buttered toast.  Opening his eyes, he found said meal just under his nose.  He looked up to see Ron and Hermione standing over him, worry etched in their features.  Neither spoke.  "Hullo," Harry said, sitting up.  His arm no longer hurt; he pushed up the sleeve of his shirt to see that the broken arm was completely healed.  "How long have I slept?" he asked incredulously.

That seemed to break some sort of barrier between him and his friends; Ron exclaimed in an affronted voice, "How come you never _wrote_?" and Hermione gasped, "Oh, Harry, are you okay?"

Harry plucked the tray carrying the toast and hot cocoa out of the air (someone had used a Hovering Charm, it seemed) and placed it on his lap before launching into his story, during which Ron and Hermione listened raptly with only occasional inserted exclamations ("Well, your uncle _should_ go to jail for _that_!" Hermione said hotly when Harry explained the scar on his face.  "That's child abuse if I ever saw it!").  "Sorry," he apologized to Ron afterwards.  "I probably should have written, but I had Hedwig busy going between Sirius and myself … which reminds me!  Did you see Snuffles with us when we teleported here?"

Hermione shook her head, but Ron, who had come out sooner, nodded.  "He was already darting into the bushes when we got out of the house," he said.  Harry was relieved; Ministry officials would be swarming all over 4 Privet Drive by now, and Sirius definitely didn't need to be in their vicinity.

"Er … so how long I have been asleep anyway?" Harry asked.

Ron shrugged and Hermione told him, "You slept until morning.  It's July 31st."

Harry decided to ask the rest of his remaining questions.  "Why was Mr. Weasley calling?  I thought Dumbledore was going to end up making me stay at the Dursleys until I went to Diagon Alley after all.  Does he know I'm here?"

Ron opened his mouth to answer, but just then another voice said from the doorway, "Actually, yes; Dumbledore had asked me to come get you, Harry."  Harry twisted on the couch to see Mr. Weasley in the doorway.  He walked in and sat across from Harry on the sitting chair.  Harry thought he looked harrowed and tired, and he felt a stab of guilt.  He'd put everyone through a lot.  "I thought I ought to give your relatives fair warning, so I tried to use a tellyhone – felephone – er …"

"Telephone," Harry filled in patiently.

"Yes, that's it.  Telephone."  Mr. Weasley looked delighted for a moment, but then he was sober again.  "I tried to use the telephone to let your uncle know.  I suppose I did something wrong; he was quite upset and hung up on me, so I decided I would just come over directly.

"Now, here's the odd part: that dog appeared almost exactly where I Apparated to, and he was quite distraught, barking furiously at me …" Mr. Weasley frowned.  "And I couldn't help remembering that Molly had said something about Sirius Black being an animagus that turned into a big black dog …"

Harry remembered all too well the conversation at the end of the last school year when Sirius had transformed in front of Snape and Mrs. Weasley.  He shifted uncomfortably and waited for Mr. Weasley to explain.

"Well, Ron here had explained everything about Sirius to us.  I guessed the dog might be Sirius looking out for you, and I followed him up to the Dursley's door – not a moment too soon, it seems now.  And of course, you know the rest, Harry."  Mr. Weasley smiled again, a tired smile that reminded Harry of Dumbledore.

"What about the Dursleys?  What happened to them?" asked Harry, a bit nervous.  _Will Dumbledore be mad if I they won't let me back next summer?_

"The Accidental Magic Reversal Squad got to 4 Privet drive before those – er – please-men," said Mr. Weasley.  Harry smiled, but didn't bother to remind Mr. Weasley that they were _policemen_.  "I told them to take Vernon Dursley to inquire into his behavior, but your aunt and cousin have had their memories modified.  They think your uncle is on a business trip and know that you're here already."

Harry frowned.  "Why did you take Uncle Vernon?  He was just beating me up because he hates me, I'd bet."  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ron nodding furiously.

Mr. Weasley shook his head.  "Dumbledore thinks it's magic."

Hermione immediately gasped.  "Do you think it might be the Imperius Curse?"  She looked horrified; Harry remembered that the Imperius Curse had caused Victor Krum to act in unexpected ways last year.  It never crossed his mind to wonder how Dumbledore knew everything that had happened to him; Dumbledore just _knew_ things like that.

"I don't know," Mr. Weasley shook his head.  "But if it's a cursed item, it'll be a load of paperwork for me …" He stood again and stretched.  "Well, I've really got to get back to work.  Lots more work to do with You-Know-Who back … though who knows if Fudge will ever come around to see the truth."

Harry reached out to stop him from Apparating.  "Mr. Weasley!  Er … thanks a lot, for saving me."

Mr. Weasley smiled again, and Ron broke in, "D'you really think we could have left you with the Dursleys?  They're almost worse than You-Know-Who!"

"You're welcome, Harry," Mr. Weasley said more mildly.  "See you at dinner."  With that he disappeared, almost certainly to appear at work an instant later.

There was a short moment of silence as Ron, Harry, and Hermione digested the new information, before Harry suddenly decided he didn't want to think about the past month for now.  "So," he asked casually, "How has your summer been?"

Instantly Hermione began to gush about Victor Krum; Ron groaned as if he had heard the story far too many times already, and Harry grinned while he munched on the last of his toast.  This_ is the way summer should be spent_, he thought, putting Uncle Vernon and Voldemort from his mind.

*   *   *

Author's notes:  First, to Prodigy: could you give me your e-mail address?  I need to justify some things with you.  ^^x  Thanks so much for your comments.

This chapter was a bit shorter than the last one.  Erm, I apologize for the lack of action.  But for the future: why on earth did Dumbledore ignore Harry for the first month of the summer?  What's Sirius up to?  Will Draco Malfoy _ever_ cease being an annoying git?  Stay tuned for Chapter 5: Trip to Diagon Alley, in which these questions are mused on or answered.


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